


I Read on a Hillside Gravestone: Part One

by norgbelulah



Series: I Read on a Hillside Gravestone [1]
Category: Justified
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan and Boyd were born in Harlan, Kentucky and maybe that's where they'll die.  But they have to live there first.  This is the story of when they lived there together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sweetest Thing You Ever Heard

Boyd Crowder was always kind of around, on Raylan’s periphery.

He remembered at Lee Spade’s campout birthday party in the fifth grade, Boyd and his cousin Johnny threw a garder snake in the tent and laughed when Mikey Pritchard near pissed himself. He remembered two years ago when the whole town heard Boyd spent a night in jail ‘cause he got caught playing mailbox baseball with cherry bombs—don’t ask Raylan how he managed that—out in Corbin.

Raylan saw him around school a lot last year, running through the halls, late to class every other day, and smoking in the bathroom with his brother and cousin. Boyd didn’t play sports, but Johnny was on the baseball team with Raylan, though they weren’t too friendly, and Boyd would come and watch the games.

He never looked like he was having a good time, though. For all the rule-breaking he did, his smile, toothy and almost maniacal though it was, never quite reached his eyes.

Now Boyd was looking at him from across the room on the first day of Marchese’s third period study hall for seniors and Raylan wasn’t sure why. He met Boyd’s eyes and quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

The corner’s of Boyd’s mouth turned up, like he was about to smile, but didn’t want to yet. He rolled his eyes and tilted his head slightly to the left and Raylan’s gaze followed. He saw Spider Sullivan, Quarterback prodigy, and Lefty Jones, his favorite receiver, with their heads bent over a piece of lined paper, probably some play for Friday’s game.

When Raylan looked back to Boyd, wondering what the hell the big deal was, the boy had his thumb and forefinger curled together to make an “o” under his desk and was pushing and pulling his other index finger in and out of that little hole in a decidedly rhythmic motion. Boyd raised his eyebrows, as if silently saying, “Yep, they’re fucking.”

Raylan had to cough to cover an explosion of laughter. He had tears in his eyes when he came up for air and looked back again at Boyd. That was the first time he received a real and true smile from Boyd Crowder. It was a beautiful thing.

 

Raylan Givens was a goddamn straight shooter, Boyd knew that, had always known it. But the year they turned senior in high school, he felt it.

Before they shared that joke about Spider and Lefty, Boyd kept finding his eye caught by Raylan. The casual way in which he seemed to approach the world was… interesting. Like the way he smiled at Cherie Miller two rows behind him, turning his shoulder and pulling his arms across the back of his chair, or the way he watched the play from the dugout during the baseball games, hunched over, elbows on his knees, laughing with the other players, but all like nothing was really touching him.

Raylan had an easy smile and it always looked the same, but if you stared real hard, like Boyd kept being unable to stop himself from doing, you could tell if he was smiling ‘cause he was happy or if he was just thinking about how he’s smarter than you.

In school, it was almost always the latter. Boyd thought the only person he hadn’t seen Raylan smile at like they were dumb as shit was himself, because Raylan hadn’t smiled at him at all. Not since they were on the same team in a schoolyard game of baseball when Raylan was on third in the ninth-inning and Boyd threw out a bunt, letting himself run to first and Raylan go home for the game winning point.

Boyd was determined to see that smile again, so he caught Raylan’s eye and made his little joke. He couldn’t have been more pleased with the result.

A few weeks later, Raylan happened to be at a party Boyd was crashing. It was one of those backwoods keggers that no one’s really sure who started but there was somehow plenty of beer and ‘shine for everyone.

Boyd first spotted Raylan standing between the spread legs of a girl who was sitting on the rickety table that held plastic cups for the beer and a bunch of empty jars of ‘shine. The girl was Becky Woods, a pretty blonde who liked to think she was better than the town she was reared in.

“When we graduate,” she said with typical fervor, “I’m gonna take me a bus straight to Hollywood, California. I’m gon’ be an actress and go to fancy places and meet interesting people. I’m gon’ make a million dollars and buy me a house on the beach.”

Boyd poured himself a beer and caught Raylan by the corner of his eye as he was making more “hmm”ing and “huh”ing noises to indicate he was listening to her prattle. Raylan turned his head and they shared a smile. Boyd knew that if he turned around as he was walking away, he’d see Raylan’s face buried in that girl’s neck and her hand winding half-way up his shirt.

A little while later, Boyd saw Raylan returning for the area most people were taking themselves to piss. He sidled himself over towards Raylan’s path and the other boy stopped when he saw him. Boyd passed Raylan the jar of ‘shine he’d been partaking of and they stood in silence for just a moment.

“You have fun with that girl, Givens?” Boyd asked.

Raylan shrugged. “As much fun as can be expected. She’s one of those who won’t put out unless she’s in a bed. I didn’t think I’d get even as far as I did tonight.”

“She seems to have a lot to say about the future. What with her dreams of stardom and all that.” Boyd wasn’t really sure where he was going with this; he just wanted to keep on talking to Raylan. He thought maybe the buzz was hitting his mouth a little harder than usual, most of the time he could hold back from talking people’s ears off when he was drinking.

Raylan raised his eyebrows, glancing over and passing the ‘shine back. “You don’t have any aspirations about getting out of Harlan, Crowder?”

Boyd just shrugged, “Harlan’s home, Raylan,” electing to use the boy’s given name to his face for the first time since they were children. If Raylan was surprised by it, his face wasn’t saying so. “I can’t imagine any place bein’ any better or worse.”

Raylan looked at him for a long moment and then smiled, but it was that other smile, the one Boyd didn’t want to see.

“I can,” was all he said. It was an amenable response, Raylan wasn’t looking to fight over the subject, but Boyd knew Raylan thought he was dumber than a pile of bricks for thinking any place wouldn’t be better than Harlan.

And maybe he was, but Boyd didn’t like Raylan thinking that. In fact, it occurred to him that he hated the idea that Raylan would have less than glowing opinions of his mental capacity. So he turned on his heel and stalked away, fighting a red flush of embarrassment.

When Johnny saw him walking towards the trucks in such a temper, Boyd just said he was hot from the fire and not feeling well. Johnny let him take the keys to his truck, saying he’d probably sleep off the ‘shine by the fire anyway, so it was fine if Boyd wanted to go home. But when Boyd left, he really just drove around until dawn wondering why the hell he was so upset.

 

On the day of the Bennett baseball game, Raylan nodded to Boyd from the dugout. He was sitting by himself in the first row of the bleachers, wearing a black shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of ripped and faded blue jeans. They had an uneasy kind of friendship now, one where they would acknowledge each other’s existence across distances and share private smiles in the classroom.

One time, after the party where Boyd had walked away from him, Raylan had come upon Boyd putting out a cigarette in the sink of the second floor boys’ bathroom. Boyd had looked up and given him one of those smiles, as if nothing had ever happened.

“Raylan,” he’d said, like his first name was an acceptable substitute for hello.

“Boyd,” Raylan had returned, though he only remembered calling him Crowder up until that very moment. He decided he liked the way the name fell off his lips as Boyd swept out of the room, winking over his shoulder.

When Dickie Bennett’s third pitch hit Raylan in the temple, hard enough to crack the hitter’s cap, there was a roaring in Raylan’s ears and then a deafening silence. Everything seemed to be tilted and spinning, but he saw Dickie’s cleat coming for his face, and he was able to stop it from taking out his eye.

He grabbed Dickie by the ankle and pulled hard. The other boy came crashing down on his back, and somehow the bat was in Raylan’s hands. He went for his third hit. He didn’t hear the aluminum shattering bone because Boyd was calling his name.

A second later the bat was on the ground, Dickie Bennett was screaming and Boyd had Raylan’s arms pinned behind his back. Boyd dragged him away and faceless people swarmed over the injured boy. Only Boyd was there to take the bloody cap off Raylan’s head and examine him with light fingers and dark, concerned eyes.

The only thing Raylan could hear was Boyd saying his name. He said some other things, fast things, worried things, but Raylan couldn’t make it out. His head felt funny and his limbs were numb. He tried to look around but the light was starting to hurt his eyes.

“Raylan,” Boyd said again, urgently.

“Boyd,” Raylan said and smiled. Boy, did he like saying Boyd’s name.

He thought it was Boyd’s hands that caught him when he fell backward and he thought he heard Boyd yelling for help. Soon there were more people, talking in a cloud of muffled chatter, saying things to him he didn’t understand.

“Boyd,” he said again, and a hand closed over his fingers. They both held on tight until the uniforms rolled away the stretcher.

Boyd didn’t come to see him in the hospital, but Raylan was only there for a day anyway. When they passed each other in the halls at school afterward, there was only a nod and that smile to suggest that there was anything at all between them.

 

Boyd had run a gamut of emotions in the twenty short minutes it had taken from that fucking Bennett boy throwing his third pitch to the paramedics rolling Raylan away on that stretcher. He didn’t think he had been so shaken, so terrified, or so confused in all his eighteen years.

He knew that Raylan and Dickie had exchanged some tense words before the game; the bleachers had been full of chatter about it. Boyd didn’t put any stock in back country family feuds, but he knew Raylan wasn’t the kind of person to take an insult lightly and he thought there would be some kind of fisticuffs during the seventh-inning stretch or immediately after the game. He had decided to stick around to see it.

A hard ball to the head in the middle of the first was not what Boyd had been expecting.

He also wasn’t expecting Raylan to get up so fast. Boyd was barely out of his seat when Raylan’s hand shot out and pulled Bennett down hard.

Raylan’s expression was bone-chilling, terrifyingly remote and it shook Boyd to the core. It was as though all the reason and sense had been knocked out of him when that fastball hit his head. He moved with an ease that seemed to require no thought, as if he weren’t aware at all of what he was doing.

Boyd realized only too late what the force that Raylan was pulling back was going to do to that boy’s knee and he found himself running across the field, hollering Raylan’s name.

He got there before Raylan could put the bat to Dickie’s head for another swing. He only managed to pull Raylan a few yards away, but he got him kneeling on the dirt while most of the crowd’s attention was fixed on Bennett.

It was scary seeing Raylan so out of sorts—it wasn’t surprising seeing as he’d so recently taken that blow to the head—but the smile on his face when he said Boyd’s name, his eyes dazed and unfocused, was almost as terrifying as his cold rage. Raylan said, “Boyd,” like it was the sweetest thing he could think of and Boyd knew he couldn’t leave after that.

Later, when Boyd finally went home in the wake of the paramedics and the police, his Daddy mentioned the fight at the game. He made it sound like the talk was just idle gossip, sharing the news of the town, but Boyd knew better.

“I heard you was the one to catch him when he fell,” Bo said in regards to Raylan, cutting into his second helping of pork chop at the dinner table while Boyd was picking at the half-eaten remains of his. "I didn't know you was friends with the Givens boy, Boyd. His daddy's a bad apple. He can't have fallen far, no matter how shiny he looks.”

Boyd looked up into the hard stare of his father and set down his fork before he spoke. It was the truth to anyone’s ears but his own, and maybe Raylan’s. “We ain’t friends, Daddy. I just happened to be there. It was nothin’, nothin’ at all.”

Boyd didn’t go visit Raylan in the hospital, though Johnny did with the rest of the team. Word ‘round town was that his concussion wasn’t as bad as it could have been. “Givens always have hard heads,” he’d heard Raylan’s Aunt Helen say with not as much humor as you’d think, but Boyd had to suppress a smile anyway.

And that made him wonder. He barely knew Raylan Givens, not any more than you can know someone you’ve only said a handful of words to since grade school, but somehow he was never far out of Boyd’s sight or mind. Looking at or thinking about Raylan made him think about how things were before Mama passed, but he didn’t understand the connection. It was strange.

Frightened by a confusion he so rarely found within himself, Boyd didn’t speak to Raylan again until they wound up on the same crew together at the mine. But that didn’t stop him from smiling when they passed each other in the hallways.


	2. Your Troubles Saved for the Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan and Boyd were born in Harlan, Kentucky and maybe that's where they'll die. But they have to live there first. This is the story of when they lived there together.

On Raylan’s first day working at the Plackett mine, he and the other trainees were lined up outside the training room, apparently waiting to be assigned to a crew. The experienced men were milling about the yard, grumbling loudly about having to wait for the greenhorns.

The morning had already been a whirlwind for Raylan: rolling out of bed later than he’d have liked, running out the door with barely any food, his mama yelling after him to “for God’s sake, take care of yourself,” and changing in the locker room without any time to spare to get the lay of the land, or a glimpse at anyone else who was in his class of trainees.

It was only after they called Boyd’s name to join one of the crews that Raylan even knew he was there, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. It was just three seconds later that they called Raylan’s own name and Boyd leaned across three other men in the line to smile a big toothy grin at him.

“Looks like it’s you and me, Raylan,” he said looking terribly pleased, and Raylan couldn’t say he felt any less happy about the arrangement.

He knew Boyd would have his back as they walked into the black, side by side.

 

After their first shift, Raylan almost left Boyd standing at the edge of the gravel yard that was used as a parking lot for the miners. He stopped as he was getting into his truck, a beat up piece of shit his mama had somehow convinced Arlo to let him have, and he saw Boyd off to the side, obviously waiting for a ride from someone.

He didn’t look forlorn exactly; he didn’t seem unhappy or worried. He was just… alone, as if it was some kind of state of being. Raylan felt as though he didn’t like seeing it much more than Boyd didn’t like living it, which was a little bit strange. He decided to do something about the situation anyway.

“Who you waitin’ on, Boyd?” He called.

Boyd sauntered over, still in his cover-alls. While Raylan had stripped off the top portion and tied it around his waist, exposing his white beater underneath, Boyd had chosen to keep them completely on, even as the sinking summer sun beat down on them both. “I expect someone will be here soon as they realize I ain’t come home yet,” he replied, very matter of fact.

“You feel like comin’ home with me for a spell, maybe eat something while you’re over?” Raylan offered, feeling a powerful need to put some meat on Boyd’s skinny-ass bones. “I promise to bring you right back here, so they can collect you when they’re ready.”

Boyd smiled, a real one, and Raylan was beginning to think Boyd saved them just for him—which was a goddamn stupid thought.

“That’s real kind of you to offer, Raylan,” he said, and didn’t say yes or no.

Raylan thought he saw some kind of discomfort in Boyd’s face, some hesitance, but he soldiered on, saying, “Sure it is. You comin’ or what?”

Boyd gave him something like a helpless look and climbed in the passenger side without a word.

When they arrived at the Givens’ homestead, Raylan’s mama was standing at the stove, stirring up something that smelled delicious. She glanced at him as the screen door opened, but quickly turned around to give him a real look when she saw the state of his clothes.

“Hoo boy, darlin’,” she said with a smile that managed to look put-upon, “You best go ‘round back and wash up at the pump. I’ll throw some clean clothes out the back door for you. I don’t want none of that messy coal dust inside this house, do you hear me?”

It was then that Boyd came in behind Raylan, who tried very hard to look sheepish.

“Is that Boyd Crowder?” His mama asked before Raylan could answer her first question.

“Yes, ma’am, it is.” Boyd spoke for himself, in a quiet, polite tone that Raylan had never heard him use before.

“Well, Glory be, boy,” she cried, smiling warmly, that real pretty smile she only gave out when she was surprised and happy at the same time. “I ain’t seen you since your mama passed, Boyd. How you Crowders holding up?”

She didn’t say why it had been so long, but all three knew it was because Arlo owed Bo some money again. The loan had come due about two and a half years before. It had been at least four since Mary Crowder died, run off the road by a drunk driver.

“Just fine, ma’am,” Boyd said with a smile that had just grown a little tighter.

“You workin’ at the mine now too, honey?” This, Raylan’s mama called over her shoulder, as she was stirring the pot again. “You call me Mrs. Givens, or Aunt Frances, now you hear? None of this ma’am hooey.” In the next moment she was pouring some potatoes out into the sink, fiddling with the dials on the electric stove.

Raylan smiled, thinking if she kept them there long enough talking, the coal dust was gonna get everywhere anyway. They might as well just sit down and eat. “Boyd’s first day was today too, Mama,” Raylan said before Boyd could answer. “We’re real hungry, so—“

“Well, of course you’ll stay for dinner,” she said, grinning. “Arlo’s gone down to the VFW tonight, so there’ll be plenty.” At the news a little ball of anxiety that had been twining around Raylan’s gut since he invited Boyd over without thinking was cut loose. “Your daddy’s feeding you two boys enough now that it’s just men in that house o’ yours, Boyd?”

A little bit more of Boyd’s smile fell away when he answered. “Yes, ma—Mrs. Givens,” Boyd amended quickly when she gave him a warning look.

Raylan knew it was a lie, and he could tell his mother knew too from the way her lips thinned. Boyd was skinny as a rail and probably wouldn’t get any taller, even though height ran in his family. Raylan knew even in high school that Boyd and Bowman scrounged up whatever they could when their daddy was off on business, but sometimes he didn’t leave them enough for how long he’d be gone. Bowman could always get a meal because the football coaches had a vested interest in his the state of his stomach, but they didn’t give a shit about Boyd’s. Now that Boyd had the job at the mine, Raylan hoped he would start eating better as soon as the first paycheck came through.

At least tonight, he’d get a full meal.

“One more thing, while I’m thinking about it, before you boys go wash up,” she said. “Just ‘cause we ain’t been over to see your family, Boyd Crowder, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t see you in church every Sunday. The Lord’s waiting for you, child. What do you have so special goin’ on Sunday morning you can’t go see him?”

There was a long pause, but apparently the meal could be left alone for the amount of time Raylan’s mother stared Boyd down. “It seems I’ve been a little neglectful of my spiritual duties, Mrs. Givens. I promise to be in church next Sunday,” he finally said and Raylan actually turned his head around to look at Boyd after that statement came out of his mouth. Boyd met his eyes with a look that said something like, “what?” And Raylan squinted at him.

“Well, good. Now you boys go wash up while I finish this. I’ll get some clean clothes for you too, Boyd,” she called as they retreated.

When they came around the house, Boyd looked a little bit shell-shocked. There was sort of a bewildered look in his eyes, like he was remembering something wonderful, but long forgotten. Raylan watched him carefully, as they began to shuck themselves out of the cover-alls.

It was when they were washing down at the pump that Boyd noticed Raylan’s scrutiny.

“You just got a hell of a lot thrown at you, son,” Raylan said, trying to give Boyd a reassuring smile. “It’s okay if you’re a little disoriented.”

Boyd just looked at him for a real long moment and Raylan started to get a little scared that he was mad, that he might leave. But he just smiled back, turning it into a quiet, almost unbelieving laugh. “Shut up, Raylan,” he said and took a swipe at the water pouring from the pump, splashing Raylan’s bare chest and making him call into the house for a towel.

 

Boyd’s daddy used to tell him, “the only people you can trust is kin, son,” and he believed him for a long time. In school, Boyd barely associated with anyone who wasn’t a Crowder or his mama’s people, the Foleys. They were pretty rough and tumble, but that was the way things were. You didn’t have to like your kin, but you could trust them, you didn’t have to love them, but they’d have your back when it counted.

Boyd watched the muscles in Raylan’s jaw and the back of his neck relax when his mother said Arlo Givens wouldn’t be home that night. Then and there, he finally decided that the last piece of fatherly advice Boyd had ever bothered to believe was bullshit as he realized Raylan had invited him over for dinner before he knew for sure that there wasn’t going to be a fight about it. And, if he believed what half the town said about this family, it would have been some goddamn fight.

Boyd had long suspected his father’s particular brand of gospel was bullshit, but the idea that trust was only for kin had been so ingrained in him he didn’t even remember the first time his father spoke the words. They were Boyd’s very own “In the beginning…”

But sitting around that table, seeing Frances Givens’ kind face, hearing Raylan’s low chuckling laughter, and seeing the way the strong bond between them shined through in their light touches and quick smiles, Boyd finally knew what it seemed like he’d always been hoping was true—he could trust Raylan Givens.

After dinner, Mrs. Givens gave Boyd two pieces of pie to take home with him, and while she had her back turned he saw Raylan palm a jar of moonshine from a high cabinet. Raylan winked at him and Boyd kept her talking as they walked towards the door. As they neared it, Raylan slipped the jar into Boyd’s free hand before he bent to hug his mother.

“Don’t you think you can sneak that ‘shine past me, Raylan. And shame on you for getting Boyd caught up in your thieving ways, too,” Mrs. Givens said laughing as she kissed his cheek.

Raylan didn’t look guilty at all, he just grinned and replied, empty hands raised, “I don’t know what you mean, Mama.”

She shook her head and waved goodnight at them, calling, “Jus’ don’t stay out too late, boys. You got work in the mornin’.”

They grumbled their assent through the door and, as they walked to Raylan’s pick-up, Boyd couldn’t help but ask, “Your daddy ain’t gonna be mad you nicked that jar, is he, Raylan?”

Raylan just shrugged. “He usually don’t notice one or two gone. He thinks he’s drunk ‘em, or that Mama used one for her peach pie. If he does, I just make myself scarce, or take whatever he feels like dishing out.”

Boyd stared at him, looking over the hood of the pick-up. It was so much more difficult to steal from Bo Crowder. He thanked the Lord most every Friday and Saturday that Johnny’s daddy owned that bar.

“Where we goin’, Raylan?” Boyd asked.

Raylan’s mouth quirked a little in a half-smile that Boyd hadn’t seen before. He suspected that this was Raylan’s playful expression, and that he was in an extraordinarily good mood. “Well, I provided dinner,” he said slyly, coming around to the passenger side of the vehicle. He took the pie from Boyd’s hands and pressed the keys into his palm. “You take us somewhere,” he said, then added as a deliberate afterthought, “And I’ll be taking this.” And the ‘shine was out of Boyd’s hands as well.

Boyd couldn’t help but laugh as he made his way to the driver’s seat. He knew just the place.

 

The property behind Bo Crowder’s homestead stretched up from the holler into the low hills at the foot of the mountain. It was about a ten minute drive and just under an hour’s walk from the house to the shale outcrop that Boyd had often come to as a child.

He led Raylan from the truck about a minute or two until they came to the rocks. From the outcrop you could see down into the holler and up to the mountain, few trees obstructed the view and Boyd knew it was rather breathtaking.

“Shit, Boyd,” Raylan said and Boyd grinned at him.

In the summer, the sun would warm the rocks and Boyd would climb up here all by himself to read 25 cent comics or books he’d stolen from the library—since no Crowder would ever be caught with such a thing as a library card. He would stay for hours and only come down when he heard the distant call of his mother. He hadn’t been back in a very long while.

But Boyd didn’t tell Raylan anything about that. They just sat down together, lying back on the smooth, cool stone. They passed the jar of ‘shine back and forth, looking at the stars and not saying much of anything.

The ‘shine burned on the way down, but it was a good burn. Boyd liked the way it made Raylan hiss through his teeth, like every time he took a drink it scratched some invisible itch.

“It’s real nice up here, Boyd,” Raylan said slowly when the jar was less than half full. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, like he was on the most comfortable bed in the world. “Real nice.”

Boyd took a moment to decide before he tentatively spoke. “After shift tomorrow, you wanna come back up? Johnny owes me a sixer and I think I can get us some barbecue from the bar.”

“You askin’ me out on a date, Crowder?” Raylan said with mock-incredulity, opening one eye.

Boyd blinked at him, and marveled that it took him over ten seconds to come up with a response. “Shit, no, Givens,” he said smiling, “Your tits ain’t big enough for me.”

Raylan laughed and leaned back again. It was a few minutes later before he said another word, but he spoke as if no time at all had passed. “Yeah, Boyd, let’s come here all the time.”

Boyd looked over at Raylan and, seeing him with that sweet, lazy smile on his face that said he was riding a loud buzz, felt something settle in his chest. It had floated down softly, landing and nestling deep, disturbing in how right it felt, because Boyd knew it was nothing but trouble.

He decided he was going to ignore it.


	3. Pour Out Your Bitter Brew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan and Boyd were born in Harlan, Kentucky and maybe that's where they'll die. But they have to live there first. This is the story of when they lived there together.

School had let out the second week of June and Boyd and Raylan had begun work at the mine just one week later. It was three days into their new working relationship that Boyd mentioned it to his father in passing. He knew that he needed to carefully pave the way for Bo Crowder to accept Arlo Givens’ son as a friend of Boyd’s.

Bo didn’t like Arlo at all these days, and had sworn up and down he had never liked the man at all after he defaulted on a loan of a rather large sum of money. The two had been at somewhat of a standoff for the last few years, neither willing to back down, yet also neither wanting to do anything too drastic to remedy the situation.

When it all had gone down, Boyd’s daddy had forbade all Givens’ from setting foot in his house or on his property again. This, a rather imperious edict in Boyd’s opinion, was making it real difficult for him to be proper friends with Raylan. He knew he had to fix it, and soon.

Boyd was lucky his daddy understood the kind of bond that can form between two men who dig under the mountain together, because when Boyd mentioned he’d like Raylan to have an invitation to the Crowder’s annual Fourth of July shindig, the request was almost immediately granted.

“You been hanging ‘round with that boy a lot, lately,” Bo had said, fixing a hard eye on Boyd.

“Always gotta be at the same place at the same time, Daddy,“ Boyd had shrugged. “Might as well go to and from together. Anyway, he’s not near as shady as his daddy. Says he wants to make an honest livin’.”

Bo had laughed and said something about how long that would last living in Harlan. Boyd had silently agreed, statistically it was near impossible, but said nothing and had ended up getting Raylan that invitation after all.

“You tell that boy when he gets here, though,” Boyd’s daddy had added. “That I want to see him. Ain’t no son of Arlo Givens gonna be pokin’ ‘round my house until I give him the once over.”

Boyd hoped Raylan wouldn’t disappoint.

 

Raylan was surprised when Boyd told him to come over to the Crowder place for the Fourth. The event was the high point of the summer for most folks in Harlan, but Raylan hadn’t been in more than five years. Family complications and Raylan’s general lack of interest in the Crowder’s kind of scene had put Raylan off of going, even when his daddy was welcome there.

Of course, if Boyd said he was invited he was sure as hell going; just to see what would go down once he got there. Raylan was always up for a challenge.

When he arrived that the Crowder’s, the party was in full swing. The Crowder clan, in and out of Harlan consisted of somewhere between thirty and forty people, old codgers to young children. All told, there were probably over a hundred people roaming around the house and its surrounding property. Half the town—the half that wasn’t on Bo Crowder’s bad side—and a bunch of shady people who must have been business connections of some kind filled out the rest of the invite list.

There was a small bluegrass band on the porch and a dance floor laid out on the front yard. Tables of food and a big fire with a barbecue pit was around the side of the house, along with four or five kegs of beer and a whole goddamn cask of what looked like bourbon.

Guests that weren’t dancing were chatting amicably together, some of the young men were tussling as they guzzled their beer, but it was a large crowd and Raylan had trouble scanning it, searching for the toothy smile and broad laugh of Boyd. Too bad for him, Bo Crowder found Raylan first.

“Givens!” Bo shouted at Raylan from the dance floor. He was wearing a festive t-shirt with an American flag and some dynamic-looking bald eagles. It was a hot day, so Bo's customary thin denim button down was not only unbuttoned but tied around his waist.

Raylan himself had forgone a regular t-shirt and was just wearing a pristine white beater and his oldest, most torn up pair of jeans. It wasn't like it was a formal occasion or anything.

Raylan nodded with a polite smile and took a few steps to meet the Crowder patriarch. "Sir," Raylan said, touching the brim of his baseball cap, in a gesture that he hoped didn't betray how nervous he was.

Bo smiled, big and broad, like it was the most natural thing in the world to have Raylan at his party, and shook his hand. "Have a drink with me, son."

Raylan didn't say yes or no, he knew it wasn't a request.

Bo called to one of his cronies and two glasses with a shot of bourbon in each appeared. Raylan took one and raised it as Bo did the same. "What should we toast to, Raylan?"

It was an innocent enough question, but the hard edge to Bo's gaze told Raylan this was a test.

Raylan smiled, in a somewhat cool way, and said, "To Freedom, of course."

Bo seemed to take a moment to process all the implications of that word, and finally, blessedly, he laughed. "To Freedom," Bo agreed. And they drank.

Raylan had left his home early that morning, telling his Daddy he'd taken a holiday double-time shift at the mine. He'd done no such thing, but he knew that if he'd left the house later, Arlo would have assumed rightly he was going to the Crowder's. Raylan didn't want to fight that fight, so he'd driven around and hit a few balls at the batting cage, waiting for the right time to show up to the party.

Consequently, he hadn't eaten anything at all that day and he realized as the shot went down, that this was probably going to be the first of many mistakes he would make that afternoon and through the evening.

"Shit," he couldn't stop himself from blurting, and didn't let himself mind that Bo seemed to think he was cursing because of the liquor. He let the man laugh all he wanted. Raylan was in.

He went to go and look for Boyd.

Boyd and his cousins were ambling out from the back of the house when Raylan finally spotted them. He noticed that Boyd seemed different somehow; his expression was set in a kind of half-sneer, half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. It was similar, but just a little bit meaner than any expression Raylan had ever seen him wear at school.

Johnny leered at one of the girls from town; she was young, thirteen or fourteen. Bowman, emboldened by his cousins, came up behind the girl and touched her, lingeringly on the ass, and when she spun around in surprise, he tweaked her little tit and skittered away, a shamelessly cruel smile on his stupid fucking face.

Raylan’s mouth twisted and his eyes were fixed on Boyd who was just standing there, drinking his beer, and laughing with the rest of them. He felt something awful curling inside his stomach and then Boyd caught his eye.

Raylan had no idea what expression was slapped on his face, but it probably wasn’t pretty. The laughter died and the smile fell away. If Raylan didn’t know better he would have thought someone just drowned Boyd’s puppy.

Boyd pushed through his cousins and crossed the yard to where Raylan stood.

“Hey, Raylan,” he said, smiling tightly. “You get anything to drink yet?” Raylan suspected he could see some shame in Boyd's eyes, but also something like anger.

He wondered if he was ever going to really understand Boyd Crowder. He wondered, for a moment, why he would even want to.

“Your daddy gave me a shot,” Raylan replied shortly. He could feel the beginnings of a buzz behind his eyes and in the thickness of his tongue. Even without this strange feeling of disgust that was writhing through him, Raylan almost didn't want to stay anyway. Drinking more could only make things worse.

He opened his mouth to say something about maybe leaving, but Boyd must have seen his intent. “Let me get you a beer,” he offered, hastily, turning towards the kegs. “I thought I saw you talkin’ to Daddy. Damn, but I wanted to be there.” He said this and smiled over his shoulder at Raylan.

There was a kind of plea in it that seemed to tug at some invisible string within Raylan, compelling him to follow Boyd as he served him up a drink, like a regular old bartender.

“Bo was…cordial,” Raylan said and couldn’t keep the irony out of his voice or a smile from pulling at his lips.

“Yeah, I bet he was,” Boyd replied with a chuckle and poured himself another.

"You been boozin' all day long, Boyd?" Raylan asked, seeing that the anger in Boyd's eyes from just a moment ago was nearly gone.

Boyd grinned. "What do you think this holiday's for, Ralyan? Now, come on. I wanna see you on the dance floor, son."

"I ain't much for cloggin'," Raylan hedged and looked away. Even if he had apparently decided to stay, there was no way he was going to fuckin’ dance.

Boyd looked at Raylan like he just said he wasn't much for breathing or eating food. "Did I just hear you correctly, Raylan? Are you or are you not a son of Harlan, Kentucky?"

Raylan squinted at him. "You know I am. I just...never had anyone to teach me. And I ain't makin’ a fool of myself today by trying to learn, okay Boyd?"

Boyd's mouth puckered in an obstinate expression, but it loosened after a moment and he said, "Fine. But that don't mean I ain't gonna teach you someday, Raylan. Shit. Not knowing how to fuckin' clog?"

Raylan rolled his eyes and growled, "Yeah, yeah. I've heard it before, Boyd." He paused and smiled at Boyd's simultaneously outraged and earnest expression. "I didn't take you for such a down home kinda boy."

Boyd took a drink. "Well, ain't I full of surprises today?" His tone was light, but it reminded Raylan of the thing with the girl and he could tell his expression darkened.

Boyd looked sideways and licked his lips like he was hesitating to say something, when Johnny came out of the crowd and caught Boyd by the arm. He glanced at Raylan and away, like he wasn't worth the mud on Johnny's shoe then said to Boyd, "Your daddy wants you, Boyd."

Boyd seemed genuinely put out at Johnny for interrupting them, but he quickly let out a breath and said, "If you'll excuse me, Raylan. I seem to be in high demand this fine afternoon. I promise to return as soon as my responsibilities are taken in hand."

Raylan smiled in spite of himself. He just couldn't help but be amused when Boyd put on his fucking airs and all those pretty words fell out of that goddamn mouth. He finished his beer in two long gulps and shook himself instead of swaying on the spot.

Raylan decided he really needed to get some food inside him before... something bad happened.

 

Daddy wanted Boyd to fetch some Johnny Walker Blue from the locked liquor cabinet inside the house. There were some kind of high rollers invited to the party this year and Bo was aiming to impress. Apparently, it was some kind of point of pride for Bo to have his oldest pour the expensive shit out for his business partners and smile and say “yes sir,” when the one in the swankiest suit asked him innocuous questions like, “You having a good time today, son?”

Boyd would have been having a better time if he could take that sixty dollar bottle of booze out to the rest of the party, back to Raylan. But he did as his daddy wanted and grinned a stupid little grin and said, “I sure am, Mr. Doherty. And yourself?”

He paid no attention to what the man said in response because Bo was waving him away. Boyd retreated happily and took a swig from the Blue Label before he stashed it back in the cabinet, hiding the key in its regular spot. Smirking as he did every time because Bowman wasn’t trusted with the knowledge of where Daddy kept that key, only Boyd was.

When he came back out through the band on the front porch, Boyd saw Raylan gnawing on a fried chicken leg, eyeing little Ava from up the road with a wary gaze as she chatted him up, a big, sweet, fuck-me smile on her face.

The girl was, Boyd believed, just shy of her sixteenth birthday but she looked about four or five years older, having in the past few months fully grown out of the coltish phase girls often go through before they become beautiful women. She had on the shortest pair of shorts Boyd had ever seen on a girl—and that’s saying something in Harlan—and a tiny little white t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination.

Boyd hadn’t seen Raylan so much as talk to a girl under thirty-five since they’d both been at that kegger before graduation. There were few women working at the mine, most of them middle-aged housewives who worked in the trailer offices and kept their distance from the miners.

When Boyd and Raylan were together outside of work, there was never anyone else around. Neither of them was very social during the work week, and they usually ran in separate circles on the weekends; Boyd with his family, and Raylan still seeing friends they’d graduated with.

Becky “Hollywood” Woods, the girl Raylan had felt up the night Boyd had walked away from him, was nothing, had been nothing, to Raylan and was even less to Boyd. But, somehow, they way little Ava was looking at Raylan eat that piece of chicken sent Boyd’s pulse pounding.

He had to pause for a moment and unclench his fists, fighting the urge to go over there and push her off the fucking picnic table. That would be a truly insane thing to do, but Boyd had found himself wanting to do insane things often lately, most often these things had to do with Raylan Givens.

He shook his head, trying to dispel his pissy mood and walked right past the two, unfortunately unable to wipe a scowl from his face completely.

Boyd took himself away from the party, hoping to get his emotions under control. He wished he hadn’t drunk the Johnny Walker, that was probably one too many switches between liquor and beer for him that day.

Changing things up always made his buzz different, and mixing the whiskey in last meant Boyd was no longer sure he could trust that he would for one thing, refrain from drinking more if it was offered and, for another keep control of himself, particularly around Raylan.

It was just his luck that the boy had managed somehow to escape that pretty girl and follow Boyd into the woods ‘round the back of the house.

Boyd had been squatting with his back up against a tall pine, head thrown back, trying to catch his breath and prevent the world from spinning, when Raylan called his name from a few feet away. He shot to his feet and had to blink rapidly as the world really did spin.

“Boyd,” Raylan said curiously. His eyes were bright, and Boyd suspected he hadn’t really eaten enough to beat back the tide of alcohol that had been thrust on him since he arrived at the Crowder’s party.

A smile tugged at Boyd’s lips. “Raylan.”

“You okay?” Raylan looked down at the ground where Boyd had just been sitting and back up to his face. “You feelin’ all right?”

“Fine,” Boyd replied shortly, though he thought he kept any anger from his voice. “You get enough to eat?” There it was. His voice was low and mumbly; he sounded a little short of pissed.

Raylan smiled awkwardly, a puzzled look falling across his features. “Probably not. But I saw you come back here… I… are you sure you’re all right?”

Boyd wasn’t liking Raylan’s persistence with this. He felt himself breaking. “I probably ain’t as all right as little Ava back there.”

Raylan's head snapped back like the words were a jab, but his expression remained bewildered. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Boyd had no idea why in God's name he'd said that, but there was no taking it back now. "Nothing," he tried to shrug, "Just seemed she was awfully interested in watching you eat your chicken.”

"Jesus Christ, Boyd," Raylan said, running a hand across the back of his neck, and Boyd marveled that he even felt compelled to respond to this nonsense. Raylan didn't owe him any kind of explanation.

"For one thing," Raylan ground out, "The girl approached me. I was minding my own goddamn business and she came up to me. Sure she's looking nice these days, but she's fucking fifteen. And I didn't touch her either."

Boyd knew exactly what Raylan was referring to. He'd seen the look on that boy's face when Boyd had laughed at Bowman taking a run at the Foreman girl. Boyd wasn't proud he'd done that, but sometimes it was just easier than telling Johnny to leave off.

Of course, he wasn't going to admit to Raylan that he knew he'd been out of line.

"What are you talking about?" He heard himself say.

Raylan straightened himself up and got this steely look in his eye that Boyd had never seen before. He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as he realized he'd just made Raylan actually angry. The muscles in his arms and chest were tight, like he was ready to hit something, but his expression was calm, neutral, and frankly terrifying.

"Now," Raylan said, raising a finger, like he was making an important point in a speech, "You know what I'm fucking talking about, Boyd. You got no right being pissed at me for looking at Ava, when you let that girl get fuckin' molested at your own goddamn party, on your own fuckin' property. I can't tell you how much I hate shit like that. How can you—" Raylan broke off, seeming to have decided that asking wasn't even worth it.

"How can I what?” Boyd spread his hands. “Shit like that happens all the time. What do you want from me?" Boyd wasn’t going to stick his neck out like that. Maybe he shouldn’t have been laughing, but telling Bowman to do anything would have made him run off to Bo, and Boyd did not want to explain to his father why Bowman shouldn’t have a little fun with a girl, Jesus.

Raylan glared at him, jaw working. "You're not like that," Raylan muttered and looked away, like he wasn't sure the words were true, all that restrained anger seemingly gone.

Boyd felt a flash of hot anger across his face and neck. He hated being called out on a lie and the way he let Johnny and the rest’s behavior slide past him was just as artificial as the smile he gave the high roller, just as false as telling himself the way he felt about Raylan was perfectly normal. "How do you know what I'm like?"

Raylan shook his head, like he was trying to knock some answers loose. His words were hurried, desperate when he said, "I thought I did. I don't know how and I don't know why, I just thought..." he trailed off, it was obvious the alcohol was not helping him sort out whatever it was that was going on in his head.

Raylan looked up at Boyd again, with a vulnerability in his eyes that hadn't been there before, and asked, "Why do you care who's talkin' to me, Boyd? Why the hell do I care what you laugh at? Why are we even talking about any of this?" The expression on Raylan's face betrayed the fact that he knew, or had a hunch, but that he didn't care to voice his thoughts on the matter.

Did he think Boyd was strong enough to do it?

Boyd stared at Raylan, all deep brown eyes and jaw clenched into a frown, his wiry arms loose and hanging at his side, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

Boyd just stood there and wanted at him.

He didn’t know what he looked like. He could barely tell what was going on around them. All he could see was Raylan and all he could feel was this blood-churning, heart-eating, all-consuming want.

Boyd didn't understand it, not completely. He couldn't reconcile this desire with the need to keep Raylan near him. He didn't think he could deal with a rejection, so he couldn't take that final step, no matter how many times Raylan asked him what the hell they thought they were doing.

“I don’t know, Raylan.” Boyd forced those words out of his mouth. Coward.

Raylan blinked, like he hadn’t quite caught the words, then anger flashed across his face again and he took a threatening step towards Boyd, growling, “The fuck you don’t.”

Boyd was pissed now too, but he couldn’t risk saying anything else. He wasn’t sure exactly what would come out of his mouth if Raylan pressed him into a real argument about this. So he tried to push past, go back to the party.

Raylan’s arm shot out across Boyd’s chest and when he tried to side step it, Raylan caught him by the meat of his upper arm. Boyd looked up into Raylan’s intense stare, full of dark meaning that he couldn’t decipher, was really terrified to, and spoke with menace that was masking fear, “Fuck you, Givens.”

There was a fire that sparked in Raylan’s eyes then that reminded Boyd of the day of the baseball game. It was muted and maybe burning hot rather than cold, but he only caught a glimpse of it before Raylan pulled viciously on Boyd’s arm and then pushed him back, away from the house and the party.

“Don’t tell me—“ Raylan had begun to speak, but was cut off when the wind was knocked out of him.

Boyd had quickly recovered from the shove and bent low to rush Raylan, catching him around the waist and taking him down fast. He couldn’t think for all the hurt and the fear that had pushed to the front of his mind and it took him a long moment to realize he was straddling Raylan at the waist and pinning his arms up above his head.

There was a surprised, not-quite cornered look in Raylan’s eyes, but Boyd’s gaze quickly fell to Raylan’s mouth. It was slightly parted in a kind of sideways half-moon shape, white teeth just peeking out as Raylan breathed heavy from the fight, from the emotions, from whatever. It was fucking beautiful and Boyd wanted it.

He saw Raylan realize just what he was staring at. He saw something shift in Raylan’s gaze, felt him hold his body differently under Boyd. Boyd wasn’t quite sure he wasn’t imagining things, but Lord above, did he want it to be true. He lowered himself to Raylan.

He pressed their chests against each other, now able to feel Raylan’s heart and his own pumping erratically, faster then he thought possible, and not in sync. His lips were only an inch away from Raylan’s when Boyd lifted his gaze up and into those eyes, burning again with that different fire.

Maybe it spooked him or something, because Boyd felt himself hesitate. He was about to pull back, do something stupid like apologize. But Raylan put a stop to that by leaning in and forcing their lips to meet in a hard, sure kiss.

Boyd thought it must be what destiny tasted like as he pressed himself closer and let Raylan’s hands free to wrap themselves around him.

 

Kissing Boyd was kind of a nice surprise. He sure as hell hadn’t been thinking that’s what would happen when he left the house that morning, but it was… nice. Better than nice, really. He wondered for a moment why he hadn’t considered it before. All the time he’d spent wondering what the hell this strange thing between them was. It wasn’t something mysterious and weird, it was just plain sex. Then Raylan decided not to even bother thinking about it at all and he kissed Boyd harder.

He pulled himself up from the ground and Boyd let him, shifting back to allow him access, letting him kiss his way down Boyd’s neck and to his collarbone. He felt and heard Boyd laugh, a breathless, unbelieving little laugh, in his ear and he wondered how long Boyd had been wanting this. He felt a little bad he hadn't thought about it at all until now.

Raylan also thought perhaps he should be feeling a bit guilty or upset about their current situation. Maybe Boyd had held back because he'd thought this whole thing was wrong. But somehow, Raylan found he couldn't muster that kind of emotion. He couldn't care less what people thought was right, or what people thought of him. No one needed to know anyhow. This was just about him and Boyd and to him it only felt right and good.

Head swimming from the booze, barely any food, and Boyd's lips teasing his into a soft smile, Raylan decided he wanted more.

He pulled his hands away from where he had his fingers tangled in Boyd's hair and drew them down to the button at Boyd's waistband. There was a shocked little indrawn breath against Raylan's lips before Boyd pulled away, exclaiming, "Shit, Raylan!" His hand dropped down to clamp around Raylan's fingers, stopping their progress.

"I didn't take you for the shy type, Boyd," Raylan said, pushing the intertwined hands down towards Boyd's crotch and sucking on the skin beneath his jaw. "You don't want this?"

"Christ Almighty, Raylan, I will let you fuck me any way you want, every day of the week, and twice on Sundays, but we can't fucking do it here," Boyd hissed, unable to stop his hips from rising just a bit, rubbing against their hands. "Someone..." he struggled to get the words out as Raylan moved his lips up, and bit gently on Boyd’s earlobe, "someone might come."

Raylan laughed, huffing air against Boyd's hot skin, sending him shivering. "You mean besides you?"

"Fuck, Raylan. I mean someone else, might come here, and see us."

Raylan felt a split second of pause at the thought. Someone seeing them like this would certainly be not good. It would be a dangerous thing, would end in violence and blood. But he felt a wave of desire as Boyd moved against him and Raylan’s fragile grip on his vision of the danger slipped away.

He wanted Boyd now, he couldn’t think past that fact, didn’t want to either.

 

Boyd realized quickly that Raylan was not taking this situation seriously enough. Boyd had heard his daddy and uncles talking about fags, niggers and kykes too, but that was beside the point. Boyd was not prepared to deal with the fallout from his family finding them in such a compromising position. Even if Boyd’s punishment was a heavily tanned hide and probably complete ostracism, there would be no way Raylan could escape with his life.

"Who's going to come?” Raylan whispered into Boyd’s neck, pressing hot fingers closer to Boyd’s stiffening erection. “Fireworks'll start soon. Can't see it from over here. Who's going to come, Boyd?"

"Someone looking for me. Raylan..." Boyd hesitated, and then realized what it was Raylan had just said. "Fuck me, the fireworks. Raylan, my daddy needs me to help with the fireworks. They really are going to be looking for me, should be doing it now."

Raylan pulled back and blinked at him. "Shit," he said glumly.

They disentangled themselves from each other, and Boyd could not help but feel a tingle of satisfaction as he noticed Raylan's reluctance was as strong as his own. Raylan's fingers lingered across Boyd's and he thought for a moment that they would sit there holding hands, but Raylan finally did pull fully away and scooted backwards, putting some space between them. Boyd was glad of it, he itched to touch that boy again, and he was doubly glad that Raylan felt the need for the distance too. Boyd could barely believe the last few minutes had really happened.

That feeling of satisfaction swiftly fled as he saw the state Raylan was in, his jeans all over dirt and leaves from the ground, his white shirt streaked with brown and a few green grass stains. Boyd knew he couldn't be in any better condition. He did some fast thinking.

"Okay, Raylan," Boyd waited until he had his full attention—he'd seemed to be looking at absolutely nothing, off in the distance, lost in thought. Raylan's eyes met his, open wide but faraway and Boyd wondered if he was already regretting what had just happened. But he knew he couldn't let that bother him; he had to get the two of them out of this without either of them losing their skins. "You have to punch me in the mouth," he said.

Raylan's mouth fell open. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Someone's going to wonder when we come outta here why we've got shit all over us. The easiest explanation is that we had a fight, and the easiest way to convey that is if one of us has a visible injury. The more visible the better."

Boyd could see the implications catching up in Raylan's mind, the gears in his head turning, as he nodded. He looked back up at Boyd and grinned impishly. "Boyd, your daddy's never gonna let me look on your face again if I sock you one on your goddamn property. It'll have to be me that gets hit."

Boyd frowned, knowing Raylan was right. If Bo's outrageously biased hunch about Raylan was proven correct, there was no way they could keep up even a pretense of being friends, let alone carry on any kind of relationship in secret.

Raylan had already pushed himself to his feet and was rolling his neck and shoulders in preparation. "All right," he said, looking game. "Don't hold back now."

Boyd stood up as well, smiled and replied, "Raylan, do you think I’d ever hold anything back from you?"

Raylan seemed to think about it, for a split second, and then smiled right back, real and true. "Not when it's real important. No, I don't."

“You ready then?” Boyd asked softly.

Raylan met his eyes and there was almost an excitement in them. It was strange, strange and perfect. Then he smirked, ruining the moment as he replied, “Just don’t break my nose. I gotta look nice for all the girls.”

Boyd swung, hard.

Immediately afterwards, his knuckles, having swiftly collided with a solid jaw, probably did not hurt as much as Raylan’s face, but damn did they ache anyway. He shook out his hand and watched Raylan right himself after stumbling back, shaking away the ringing in his ears.

Boyd had split Raylan’s lip and there was a little blood on the side of his mouth. He dabbed at it and rubbed what came away on his jeans. He shook his head again and Boyd finally felt a little bad. He’d never actually tested out his right hook on someone.

“Ugh,” he moaned and said, “Shit,” drawing out the word as he looked back at Boyd. “You really didn’t hold back, did you?”

Boyd smiled and took a slow step into Raylan’s personal space. “I’m all about a convincing performance, Raylan,” he said softly and rested a hand on that slender hip. Boyd then pressed his lips against the slowly trickling cut, lapping at the blood lightly with his tongue, just once, tasting iron and salt. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

Raylan smiled back against Boyd’s cheek and swayed his body forward. “Yeah well,” he sighed. “Can’t be helped.”

“Boyd!” His daddy’s call came from the direction of the house and Boyd instinctively took a fast step back. He met Raylan’s eyes and realized he couldn’t hide the fear that voice put into him sometimes.

Raylan looked at him long and steady, that little bit of blood back in the corner of his mouth and red splotches surrounding his lip and jaw where a bruise would soon form. “Go on,” Raylan said, like he knew just how Boyd felt, because he did. “I’ll come after, in a minute.”

Boyd hesitated, he didn’t know why, but he wanted something else, some reassurance that things between them weren’t going to change after he walked out of these woods.

“It’s a good plan, Boyd,” Raylan urged. “Don’t fuck it up now.”

He heard his daddy call again. His feet stayed planted.

Raylan raised his brows, toeing a fine line between exasperation and amusement. “I’ll drive up to the rocks. Can’t stay here now. And I’ll see the fireworks from there. Meet me when you can, okay? Bring some fuckin’ food too, will you? I didn’t think you’d be such a shit host, Jesus Christ.”

Boyd finally laughed and he felt something bubbling up inside him, just as it had drifted down before, but it was larger and still growing. Maybe it was happiness, maybe it was the beginning of something else. Boyd didn’t care to define anything just yet.

But he did laugh and he felt that laugh in every fiber of his body as he walked away from Raylan, going back to his family, knowing he’d have those arms around him, those lips against his soon enough. It was something to look forward to—a reason to keep going forward. And Boyd realized that was something he’d been searching for, maybe for a while now.

How fitting that it was Raylan, who’d been there all along.


	4. Something to Hold When You Can't Get Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan and Boyd were born in Harlan, Kentucky and maybe that's where they'll die. But they have to live there first. This is the story of when they lived there together.

Raylan was real careful about driving up to the outcrop. He’d only been there a few times, and tonight his head was pounding and his jaw was aching and his tummy was rumbling. He should have felt like complete and utter shit, but really he felt fine, he felt like… really good. He smiled through his careful concentration, thinking how upset Boyd would be if he wrapped his pickup ‘round a tree on his way up there.

The fireworks had just started as he got the pick-up backed up as close to the rocks as he could. He pulled the emergency blanket out of the cab and laid it out on the bed. Raylan then laid himself down and took in the show.

The Crowders always did put on some nice fireworks, not anything like the county or the town could afford, but it was small and pretty, real artistic like. Flashes of red and blue and green appeared in the sky with that loud crack and the boom following. And those white ones that shot up like rockets, stringing stars behind them like a comet, those were Raylan’s favorite.

The finale was short, but intrepid in its use of a shit ton of fireworks in about a thirty second period and Raylan could hear Boyd’s whoop all the way up where he was. Boy, did that maniac love to blow shit up.

Raylan thought about the other day when the powderman had showed them both how to set charges. It was a skill every miner should have at least a basic knowledge of, but most hardly used it. Boyd though, could not get enough information about how it worked; he asked incessant questions, to the point of annoyance. Raylan had to kick him, sharp in the shin, to get him to lay off.

When the man asked them which one wanted to blow the charges they’d set, Raylan had deferred the honor to Boyd, who grabbed it up like a kid on Christmas. He’d shouted “fire in the hole,” like he’d been waiting his whole life to say those particular words and a shit-eating grin did not leave his face for the rest of the day and into the evening, which they’d spent celebrating at Audrey’s.

They hadn’t picked up any girls that night, hadn’t really wanted to, bowing to some unspoken agreement that it wasn’t necessary. Raylan thought about how they’d left the place, arms over shoulders, laughing like idiots. Boyd had looked at him for a long time in the dark of the new moon. Raylan remembered it distinctly, because he hadn’t been able to see Boyd’s expression.

He wondered now, what he’d missed and he ached for Boyd’s touch again.

Raylan must have dozed off after the fireworks ended, because he was roused by the closing of a car door behind his pick up. He stirred, trying to wake himself, and saw Boyd coming around to the tailgate that Raylan had left down.

He stood for a moment, his face and body shadowed from the trees overhead. His hand came up to grip the side of the bed, fingers curling in anticipation. But Boyd didn’t move and Raylan knew why. Here and now they didn’t have to rush, they didn’t have to worry about being caught. They had all the time in the world. Raylan knew Boyd had the patience of the fucking devil himself.

“Raylan,” Boyd said quietly.

Raylan blinked sleepily. “Boyd.”

The corner of Boyd’s mouth quirked in a kind of half-smile, as if he liked what he was seeing too much to keep a straight face, when he said, “I hope I didn’t keep you too long, my friend.”

“Is that what we are, Boyd? Friends?” Raylan raised his eyebrows playfully.

Boyd turned that little quirk into a big flash of teeth. “That, and more, Raylan. If you want.”

“Oh, I think you know what I want,” Raylan replied, his heart starting to pound. He hadn’t wanted it before that night, but now the idea of going without was unthinkable. "Now why don't you come up here and give it to me?"

The look in Boyd's eyes was one of rising to a challenge, but there was a hint of something else, something that made Raylan's skin grow hot. He sat up a little, propping himself on his elbows.

Boyd climbed up on the tailgate, ending up on his hands and knees at the foot of the truck bed. He crawled, on all fours real slow, like some kind of predator, up the length of the bed and planted his hands on either side of Raylan’s waist. Boyd looked into his eyes and an intense sensation of tension, desire, permeated the air between them, making things feel thick and heavy.

Even Boyd's words sounded as though they had weight. "This what you had in mind?"

"Boyd, quit bein' an asshole and just kiss me," Raylan breathed, running out of patience.

Boyd's kiss was a searing hot mess of lips and teeth, rough and wet and everything Raylan had been waiting for. Boyd sucked Raylan’s lower lip between his teeth; it was an insistent pull, but somehow gentle and Raylan felt his cock jerk in his jeans.

Their hands tangled in each other’s hair, Boyd’s going wild and messy, sticking out in all directions. Raylan wanted to press every inch of his burning skin against Boyd, and he seemed to be thinking the same thing, because Raylan’s shirt was over his head and tossed to the corner of the bed before any words could be spoken on the matter. Boyd’s followed suit right after.

It was only when Boyd’s hands found his waistband that Raylan stopped to think. “Boyd,” he spoke into his lips. “You know what the hell you’re doin’? ‘Cuz I sure as shit don’t.”

Boyd pulled back and looked steadily into Raylan’s eyes. His hands rose from Raylan’s hips to his face, his fingers brushing back into Raylan’s hair, his thumb lingering softly at Raylan’s purpling jawline.

“We’re gonna do whatever feels good, Raylan,” he replied in a quiet, reassuring voice. Raylan didn’t even know that he’d needed reassuring, but he closed his eyes and accepted it. “It don’t matter if we know what to do. We’ll do what’s good for us,” Boyd finished with a kiss against Raylan’s temple.

“And what’s good for us?” Raylan found himself asking.

Boyd spread Raylan’s legs, keeping them apart with his bony knees, a wicked smile forming on his lips. “Your choice, Raylan. Do you want to fuck my hands, my mouth, or my ass?”

“Jesus, Boyd,” Raylan almost laughed. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Boyd shook his head as if Raylan was somehow missing an important point. “I don’t want you to think, Raylan. I want you to fuck me.” He bent low and pressed his lips to Raylan’s chest, working his way down in kisses even as he pulled at the button and zipper at Raylan’s fly.

His pants were down around his knees and Boyd stripped them off efficiently before Raylan realized he could not answer Boyd's question. "What do you want, Boyd? Tell me what else you want."

"I want to see you," Boyd whispered looking up at him, as their hands pulled his jeans and underwear over his tight little ass. "I want to see your face when I make you come."

Raylan shivered, kissing the side of Boyd's mouth as he spoke. "What else?"

"I want..." He paused when Raylan's hand found his hip, then his cock. "I want you to come inside me. I want little pieces of you all up in me, Raylan."

Raylan pumped his hand up Boyd's dick and rubbed himself against the narrow space between his arm and the inside of Boyd's thigh. It was all too fast, too ready. He was already wound up from before and he'd been thinking about it for so long. "I don't think we've got time to open you up right, Boyd. What if I just come all over you?"

Boyd moaned agreement into Raylan's shoulder, pressing the flat of his teeth to skin. His hands found Raylan's cock and their bodies and hands fumbled into some semblance of a rhythm, arching towards each other and straining for purchase.

"You a biter, Boyd?" Raylan said to the sky, feeling it coming, like a storm rolling in.

Boyd's heavy laugh turned into a pant and he grunted in Raylan's ear, "Only when provoked." As Raylan huffed a laugh into the crook of Boyd's neck, he suddenly stiffened and groaned Raylan's name, sinking his nails into Raylan's back and tightening his fingers as they slipped through his come, up Raylan's cock and down and up again.

It was enough to push him over. Later, Raylan wouldn't remember exactly what sound he made, but it was loud and harsh and it echoed across the valley. He punctuated it with a "Fuck," and fell across Boyd, who had just collapsed back onto the blanket.

"Lord, have mercy," Boyd said softly, in an awed tone of voice. His hands rose to play languidly with Raylan's hair and his smile looked like it was ready to split his face open.

It made Raylan feel real good, that Boyd had been so pleased, made so happy by what they just did. He hadn't ever felt so good about doing something before, even when he was with girls, or when his mama said she was proud of him. He felt a strong desire to hear what else Boyd wanted from him, because up ‘til then everything he’d named all seemed like things Raylan could find himself doing, find himself wanting badly to do.

Raylan pulled himself off Boyd and his lips quirked when he heard the boy's sad little whine as Raylan moved away. He laid back down just a second later and sidled himself over, stretching his limbs next to Boyd's and he was rewarded with a happy sigh.

"Anything else I can do for you, Crowder?"

Boyd turned on his side, eyes closed, big smile still stuck on his face. "I want you to live inside me," Boyd whispered into Raylan's shoulder.

Raylan looked down at the top of Boyd's head, only glimpsing a quarter profile of his expression. It seemed a little too loose, even for an afterglow like this one. "Boyd, are you still drunk?"

Boyd grunted and Raylan laughed, shaking them both with it. "You sure hold onto a buzz a long time."

"My daddy had us take a celebratory shot. I think it was bourbon," Boyd mumbled, pressing himself closer.

Raylan let him, pulling his arm underneath, to wrap around Boyd. "And you drove yourself all the way up here?"

"I've driven drunker," he replied low and grumpy. "Shut up. I want to sleep."

"All right," Raylan replied, going soft. "If that's what you want."

 

Raylan, thankfully, had set the alarm on his cheap digital watch and was awoken at five the next morning by an insistent, high-pitched beeping and Boyd’s loud groan.

“Get that thing outta my ear,” Boyd complained, burying his face in Raylan’s side. “It’s still fucking dark.”

Raylan rolled away from him, pulling his arm out from under Boyd’s heavy body. “It’s time for work, Boyd. That’s what the alarm means. Get up.”

They’d slept naked under a cloudless sky and the morning was chilly for summer. “Shit,” Raylan muttered and rubbed his hands together.

“You surely said it,” Boyd muttered, reaching for his shirt. He came up with Raylan’s and tossed it to him. Raylan’s jeans were hanging off the end of the tailgate and Boyd’s had been thrown clear near the edge of the outcrop.

Boyd laughed as he walked over to retrieve them. “Woulda been bad to have these go over the edge, huh? You gotta be more careful next time, Raylan.”

Raylan watched Boyd as he put on those jeans still shirtless, thinking the underwear probably did go over the edge, seeing as they were nowhere in sight. He didn’t say anything about it and neither did Boyd. “I’m pretty sure it was you tossed those pants away, Boyd. Careful nothing, next time I’ll just do it myself.”

Boyd’s gaze sharpened at Raylan’s agreeing there would be a next time, making Raylan shake his head.

Boyd let his hands fall loose to his side and tilted his head, like he couldn’t quite figure Raylan out. The sun was rising behind him, as if it was coming out of the mountain just to illuminate Boyd Crowder in a glowing backlight of hazy orange and yellow. “I never thought,” he murmured, “that this would ever happen. I thought it was just me.”

Raylan smiled softly and slid off the edge of the tailgate, Boyd’s t-shirt in hand. He walked towards Boyd, but not so close he could touch him. “You thought wrong,” he replied and looked Boyd up and down. He’d put on some muscle since starting at the mine, so had Raylan, but Boyd had been so skinny before, it really showed. He looked more like a man than ever before, and Raylan felt his cock stiffen a little just at the thought. Jesus. “Maybe I didn’t know what it was, but it was there.”

“I thought I was imagining it,” Boyd said. “My mind playing tricks. I wanted—“

Raylan stopped him. They didn’t need to talk about it. “You told me what you wanted, Boyd. You can tell me again next time. I think you heard how much I liked it.” Raylan smirked and put his free hand to the back of his head. He took one more step and handed Boyd his shirt.

Boyd took it and pulled it over his head, then opened his mouth once, hesitating before finally speaking, “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Don’t mind what?”

Boyd looked down, scuffing his foot on the gravel. “I mean, you always look like you mean it in church.”

Raylan smiled, finding it utterly ridiculous that his mama’s prompting had actually convinced Boyd to come to church regularly again. And of course he looked like he meant it. If he didn’t, he’d get a smack from both his parents, his mama for not taking the Lord seriously and Arlo for upsetting his mama. Raylan had learned long ago to pick his battles with both of them.

He didn’t say any of this to Boyd. He just kept on smiling and asked, “You been watchin’ me?”

Boyd looked up, his eyes somehow shy, but steady too. “I always watch you, Raylan. Always.”

Raylan didn’t break Boyd’s stare, but he wanted to, feeling his good humor drop. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He didn’t like talking about stuff like this in the first place. They were already doing it, weren’t they? Had already done it and had established they were gonna do it again. If he didn’t want to, if he didn’t think it was right, why would he have done it in the first place?

But the look on Boyd’s face said he wanted an answer, so Raylan shrugged. “If I’m going to spend my life digging coal, Boyd, I might as well do something that makes me happy too. You—“ He faltered, failing to pull up his wry smile. “Having you, like this, made me happy. Will do again too, I think.”

“Well, I thank you for that, Raylan,” Boyd replied. He didn’t need to say the same back and Raylan didn’t ask him to; the look on his face said it all. They talked no more about it after that.

 

They took Boyd’s truck to the mine, as Raylan’s was parked in and had a come-covered blanket laid out in the bed. They didn’t say much on the way over, too hung-over to talk any more, Raylan too busy eating the chicken Boyd had neglected to mention he’d taken from the leftovers of the party.

They were careful not to smile too much at each other while on the job.

Not that anyone would have noticed. All the men were too busy nursing headaches and complaining about the holiday falling on a Tuesday to pay attention to two greenhorns who just happen to have fucked the night before. But Raylan knew, and so did Boyd, that it was best to keep up appearances.

Neither of them would soon forget they had just stumbled, half-blind, into something tremendously, precariously dangerous. Both of them had a feeling that if they were ever caught, it would probably be better if the mountain came down on their heads rather than anything else in Harlan.

And they both knew they were gonna risk it anyway. It was too good to let it slip away.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written several months ago. I'm posting it now in order to archive all my fic here at AO3.


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